


Devils and Demons Alike

by lesbianquill



Category: Class (TV 2016)
Genre: F/F, I'm not sorry, Quill deserves a gf, or at least a good fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 00:47:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8600512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianquill/pseuds/lesbianquill
Summary: Dorothea Ames was not her enemy-- God no. She was far more than that.An unexpected visitor pays a visit, and Quill finds her to be useful in more ways than she could have imagined. (Set between Brave-ish Heart and Detained)





	

Sundown was Quill’s personal haven. That was the time when she was free of children-- especially Charlie’s group of human ‘friends’. There was no rift. There was no school. Just the house-- mostly empty, since the lovebirds had escaped to the safety of their shared bedroom-- with its eerie silence that Quill interrupted periodically with the slurp of coffee or the turn of a page. These were the nights where she didn’t have to think. She just _was_ , and she found the peace that enveloped her rather comforting. Or rather, she would have, if it wasn’t for the sound of the front door clicking open. She had triple checked it was locked before sitting down; a habit that she couldn’t seem to kick. The boys were upstairs. Nobody else had a key. So who on Earth was breaking into her house in the middle of the evening?

“Andrea?” Dorothea called out, closing the door with a soft thud behind her. Quill quietly seethed from her place on the sofa as she tossed the book she was reading down onto the coffee table. Had the headmistress taken up a career in burglary all of a sudden? Paired with the use of her stupid choice in a fake first name, Dorothea’s intrusion plagued her with a wave of resentment. _Sure, let yourself right in. Don’t mind me, it’s not as if I live here or anything. How about you just help yourself to anything you like? TV? Drinks cupboard? Cabinet of Souls? Go ahead._ She resisted the temptation and held her tongue, for once. There was always time for insults later.

“I’m in here,” She found herself saying, almost involuntarily. The woman entered with the same perfect poise that she always carried herself with, all daintiness and grace and irritating Britishness. Quill wanted to resent her-- oh, how easy it would have been-- yet there was nothing more intriguing than someone with all kinds of information that she could get her hands on. If only she could just beat it out of her. This version of Dorothea, out of hours, seemed a little more subdued than her professional counterpart. A change of clothes suited her. Gone was the overly bright professional attire, replaced by a tighter, black dress. A peek of shoulder. An expanse of pearly skin, goose-pimpled every so slightly with the Autumn air. Quill took a hard breath and tried to look her in the eye. “What? What do you want?”

Dorothea crossed the room and settled herself in the armchair, studying Quill with those eyes of hers. Smug. Knowing. Dominant. “Oh dear, you’re not going to make me say it, are you?” There was the head tilt, the kind that told her that she knew exactly what was going on, even if Quill didn’t. Much to her own annoyance, Quill was clueless.

“I’m sorry,” Her eyes darted over to the door, the coffee table, the book _on_ the coffee table (a rather questionable romance, of which she cringed when Dorothea’s own eyes noticed it); literally _anywhere_ that wasn’t her superior. Finally, she looked up to the woman with a raised eyebrow. “You break into _my_ house, and then expect me to know why you’re here? This is ridiculous. _You_ are ridiculous. You know-- whoever these Governors are, I’m beginning to think they sent you to specifically make my life harder.”

The headmistress simply laughed-- light and airy, no less-- before a rather menacing smirk settled over red lips. “You and I both know you don’t have anyone else to celebrate saving the world with.”

“That’s...” Quill’s brow furrowed in confusion, “Not what I thought you were going to say.” She wasn’t wrong-- unfortunately for her, it seemed that was going to be a running theme when it came to Dorothea. “It’s not like I even did anything. It wasn’t even Charles, it was--”

“Miss MacLean, I know.” Dorothea leaned forward on the edge of her seat to rest a hand on Quill’s knee. “However, the Lankin? That was you, was it not? Nobody else could have stolen that bus.” How did she know about that? It didn’t matter. She seemed to know everything. Quill reluctantly nodded, following the trail of skin up Dorothea’s arm to those eyes, that stared at her with such intent that she could barely look away. It was far more intimidating than she wanted it to be. “See,” Dorothea smiled, “And you let them take all the credit, no less. Well, that is about to change-- for tonight, at least. How about a drink?”

Quill stared back for far longer than necessary. There was no way she could trust her, not after everything that had happened. What was stopping her from slitting her throat and going after Charlie there and then? No doubt she had some kind of weapon on her-- she seemed the type to always have some kind of trick up her sleeve. The danger, she supposed, was what made it all exciting. A little bit sexy, even. Christ, that was the last thing she wanted to think about right now.

“Fine,” She said as steadily as her shaking voice allowed, pushing herself off of the sofa and safely away from Dorothea’s wandering hands, “ _One_ drink. Then you can leave.”

“As you wish, Andrea.” _Oh, for fuck’s sake._ She really wasn’t in the mood to argue. She wanted this thing out of her head, and if that meant putting up with the butchering of her name, so be it.

Quill moved to the kitchen, pressing a hand to her burning cheeks when she was sure that she was out of Dorothea’s sight, then busied herself with finding a couple of glasses for the wine. “Don’t let this fool you into thinking we’re friends, Miss Ames,” Quill called from the safety of the cupboard, “It’ll take a lot more than this to make me trust you.”

Dorothea said nothing. Whether or not she should have been worried, Quill couldn’t tell. After hesitating over the wine selection for a moment, she settled for something a little fancier than her usual choice, with a bit of a kick-- just for good luck. She tucked the bottle of red under her arm and returned to the lounge to find Dorothea waiting just how she’d left her. Except for the fact that at this angle, Quill could see the soft swell of her breast, heaving with every breath. She swallowed. There was a wince from both parties as the glasses clinked onto the coffee table, followed by the pop of the cork (removed from between Quill’s teeth). When she offered Dorothea the glass, the woman’s touch lingered, the look she gave almost overpowering as Quill practically trembled under it.

“To... pleasant surprises.” Dorothea smiled, raising her drink in Quill’s direction. She weakly echoed the line before taking a generous gulp of liquid courage that she so desperately needed. What was that even in reference to? Her victory against the Lankin? The destruction of the petals? The rather odd turn of events that evening? Quill sat nervously, fidgeting relentlessly under the headmistress’ gaze. They both sipped silently as Dorothea watched on. It was almost as if she was undressing her with her eyes. "I take it you enjoyed my gift.”

The sudden words startled her. She lowered the glass from her lips, glancing over in confusion as she tried to read the world’s best pokerface. “I’m sorry?”

“The _android_ , don’t be dull. Didn’t I mention that was from me?”

Quill paused for a moment. Her mouth opened, closed, and opened again, her mind working tenfold to try and piece together a reasonable sentence. “That... was your doing. And who programmed it to-- _um--_ ” _Want me,_ she tried to say, but the words just wouldn’t form.

Dorothea seemed to swan through the conversation without missing a beat. “I wanted to see how far you’d go.” She snickered-- rather deliciously, much to Quill’s misfortune-- and leaned closer. “I knew you were lonely. I just wanted you to have _something_ to have your way with, if not me.”

Oh. _Oh._ This wasn’t a celebration. _This was a seduction._

Quill pushed the cardigan from her shoulders, exposing the thin, laced camisole underneath. Of course Dorothea’s eyes followed the movement every inch of the way. Her tongue darted out from behind painted lips. Quill rose from her seat and padded tentatively over to the armchair. After taking another swig of wine, she sat the glass down on the coffee table before confidently straddling Dorothea’s thighs.

“ _Well_ ,” The woman said amusedly from behind her wine glass, “That was a lot quicker than I expected.”

Quill plucked the drink from her hands and set it down behind her. “Enough.”

Dorothea seemed to be enjoying the challenge. Her now-empty hands raised to clasp Quill’s slender wrists, much to her surprise, and she gave her a wonderfully sinister grin as her thumbs grazed her pulse-points, feeling their increased beat.

“Says who?” Lips edged to the shell of her ear, to which she whispered, “Your body is already betraying you, my dear.” Quill shuddered. She hated it that she was right. A soft kiss pressed just below her lobe, and her breath caught in her throat. Desire was the ultimate weakness. The loneliness had been stifling; she was stuck in a world where nobody else could possibly understand what she’d been through. Perhaps she had been fooled by the robot, but that had never been real. It was just an echo of her isolation. Yet Dorothea had a heartbeat, the element of surprise, and a mouth that was currently kissing its way down her neck.

“I’m pretty sure this isn’t in the job description,” Quill forced the words as her eyes bored into a spot on the ceiling, voice wavering at the end as Dorothea’s teeth grazed her throat.

“I never said this was a business call,” The woman said softly, head raising to look her in the eye. Quill tried to find a reason to believe her.

“It usually is with you.”

The grip on Quill’s wrists loosened. Steady hands found their way to petite hips, gliding upwards and taking the camisole with it. Over her head it went, then it was discarded completely, leaving her sat there for Dorothea to drink in with her hungry gaze. Quill watched silently as the headmistress looked her over, eyes exploring where hands and lips would later.

“Beautiful...” Dorothea cooed, stroking her way across the expanse of Quill’s torso. The praise was uncommon, but not at all unappreciated. She deserved to be admired, in fact, she _craved_ it. One hand settled on her bare breast, thumb ghosting over the hard nipple beneath, whilst the other slipped down across the taut skin of her stomach to hook her fingers into her waistband. “I think these need to go, don’t you?” The woman asked casually, watching keenly as the swirl of her thumb left Quill trembling. She nodded weakly, pushing up on the arms of the chair to get some leverage as Dorothea pulled the fabric from her hips, taking her underwear with it. There was no doubt that this level of exposure was foolish, especially when it came to someone like _her_ , who had stripped her of control mere moments after they met. The last dregs of superiority drained from her, leaving her naked and feeling incredibly, foolishly, and suddenly exposed. What she wanted was to pin Dorothea down and fuck the smugness straight out of her-- a suitable solution to her growing chagrin-- but all she could do was kneel and stare as the corner of the woman’s mouth curled into a satisfied smirk. Her hand moved, hesitant at first, to feel the slickness between Quill’s thighs. She hummed quietly; an indication of her approval. _Yes, please_ , it said, _I need to be touched._ Of course, she had far too much pride to say much of anything at all.

Slow, quivering hands inched towards the zip in the side of Dorothea’s dress. Quill managed to get it about a quarter of the way down before the headmistress stopped everything that she was doing to give her a stern look.

“ _No_.” She scolded, giving Quill a swat with her closest hand, “Not unless I say so. Goodness me, where are your manners?”

She was just about to fire back when one of Dorothea’s fingers eased into her, and instead her voice melted into a soft moan, hips rocking back on the digit as it curled inside her. The stunned silence that Dorothea drew from her earned itself a small chuckle in return. God, she was reveling in it. It wasn’t enough that she was in charge of her in the daytime-- she just had to bring it here, too. It was bitter but oh-so good, and if Quill was about to complain, the notion was forgotten as soon as Dorothea’s thumb found her clit. The circles she drew against her skin were met with the press of insistent hips. The line between enemy and lover blurred into a desperate haze, replaced with something curious and new, sharp yet soft. The hand that had been absently kneading her breast stilled in anticipation as Quill doubled over in pleasure, her face finding solace in the crook of the woman’s neck. She pressed a kiss there, unrestrained and messy, that caught Dorothea off guard. Her moan was so quiet it was essentially a whisper, but Quill had heard it, echoing with one much louder as Dorothea retaliated with a second finger. Her hand moved inside her like the swell of the ocean, not completely unlike the swell of pleasure that had taken control of the warrior’s mind and body. Soft grooves dug into the leather of the armchair as she grabbed onto it for dear life. It was much harder for the headmistress to keep in control with the peppering of kisses on her neck, interspersed between the graze of teeth here and there. Quill managed to suck a rather impressive bruise just under her jawline, much to Dorothea’s annoyance, who moved faster, harder, until the warrior’s thighs shook with the tension that built inside of her.

Quill cried out, riding the woman’s fingers as if her life depended on it. She could have screamed. Dorothea was relentless. She was so close, if the sound she was expelling was anything to go by. That was when the headmistress slowed to a gruelling speed, taking her to the edge and leaving her there to writhe under still hands. Her hand moved to push her chin up, forcing Quill to look at her, watching the expression in her face change from pleasure to panic at the loss of stimulation. She was playing a game that she could never, ever win. Her forehead pressed to Dorothea’s, half-lidded eyes searching those of the other for a hint of mercy.

“Please,” She murmured reluctantly.

Dorothea chuckled, taken aback just a little at the request. Isn’t that what she had wanted all along? To establish her control? Her eyes grew dark as she pressed down with her thumb softly, causing Quill to whimper once more. “Say it again.”

“ _Please_.”

There she was-- Andra’ath, the last warrior of the Quill race-- begging. She could tell that Dorothea was practically overjoyed, but she needed the safety of release more than anything. Ever since the Doctor had thrown her into saving the world, abandoning her on this stupid rock with nobody remotely sane for company, her feelings had been waging a war inside of her. Yet here, under the delicate touch of Dorothea’s fingers, she could let go of it all, even if only for a moment. And what a delicious moment it was.

Pity eventually won over selfishness, and Dorothea wrenched the orgasm out of her as Quill bit down on the woman’s shoulder, _hard_ , in an attempt to quell some of the noise she was making. She rode out the last of it before slumping back into that nice space in the crook of Dorothea's neck, breath hot against her skin.

Whilst Quill didn’t really care all that much for sentiment, the hand that stroked her hair was surprisingly soothing. It was just the exhaustion, she convinced herself, rather than any hint of actual feeling.

“There,” Dorothea murmured gently, “Isn’t that better?”

It was. Her hands ached from the iron grip she had on the chair, but pleasantly so, like she might after a good workout. She detached them from the leather to wander across the woman’s clothed skin, pushing the hem of Dorothea’s dress an inch or so up her thighs. “Can I--?”

“Not this time.” She replied firmly, stopping her in her tracks. They stayed like that for a while-- Dorothea stroking Quill’s hair as she quietly contemplated-- before the headmistress shifted, sliding the tired warrior onto the chair to go and wash her hands in the kitchen sink, taking the discarded wine glasses with her. Quill hung in limbo between consciousness and sleep, aware enough to feel the blanket tuck up around her naked body, as well as the fond caress of Dorothea’s thumb against her cheek. She could just about make sense of the words that followed.

“You’re not so different, you and I. We know what we want, and we go out and get it. Sometimes we have conflicting desires, but it’s not your fault-- not by any means. And sometimes, when you’re very lucky, we both get what we need. What an interesting experiment that was.” Then, she added, a little quieter, “When I told you I wasn’t your enemy, I meant it, you know.”

For the final time that evening, she wasn’t lying. Dorothea Ames wasn’t her enemy-- God no. She was far more than that.


End file.
